I want to cast off,
roll the tiny yellow scrap
and slip it into the amber
apothecary bottle once
dredged from the Kaw
now so full of westering suns.
Return the both of them
to where voices yet echo
from lost sailors, dreamers
who succumbed to watery graves
where reefs undulate as corals
breathe and mighty rays bear
the unseen upon their backs.
How we’ll bob above the waves
for I’ll put myself into it, and pull
the cork in after, tuck in a bit of fern
pillow the bottom with a miniature
rosette of Hen & Chicks that
once shared the window sill.
Together, we’ll ride the mighty Missouri
into the Mississippi, sail past the oil
rigs of the Gulf, rocking toward beyond.
Oh, the yellow scrap I’ll leave blank
so that time might etch her peculiar message.